#avengers!reader

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you’re in a pickle. as you sit with natasha and wanda on the floor of wanda’s room, you listen as nat tells the two of you about her earlier conversation with bucky. 

“he said we were dating?” you were confused. bucky had never asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had gone on a couple dates and hung out around the compound all the time. you were too nervous to make any moves, but it seemed bucky was on a completely different page altogether.

“basically” natasha confirmed. “he told me he already had plans for saturday with his ‘girl.’”

“oh.” 

wanda giggles at your perplexed state. “maybe you’ve been stressing over nothing this whole time, then.”

“but he never asked me.”

“maybe it was different back then?”

“cmon wanda, it’s not like he said we’re going steady like its the 40s. i feel like he knows about labels.” you sigh. you’ve been worried these last few weeks that bucky wasn’t going to ask you to be his girlfriend – maybe the two of you didn’t hit it off as well as you thought. but then he would take you on more dates, and you’d spend all day doing things around the compound that it felt like you already were girlfriend and boyfriend. 

“maybe he thought he already asked you.”

you sat with that for a moment. maybe he thought he did? you had no idea, and later into the night it got, the more confused you became. you nodded at the two girls, exchanging goodnights and making your way back to your room. 

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by the time you got to the kitchen for breakfast, steve, sam, and bucky had already returned from a morning run, and wanda was cooking eggs at the stove with vision.

“goodmorning y/n,” steve smiles at you.

you return the sentiment and rub the sleep from your eyes. you make eye contact with bucky and try not to stumble as you reach up for a mug in one of the cabinets. as you reach from your toes, bucky’s metal hand finds your waist and he engulfs you from behind, his other hand grabbing your favorite mug.

“let me get that for you, peaches.”

you try not to flush.

steve smiles at the interaction, continuing his conversation with sam. after bucky sets your mug on the counter, he gives the top of your head a small kiss and makes his way back over to steve. you wonder if steve smiled at the two of you because he thinks you’re dating. if bucky thought the two of you were official, why would his best friend think any differently? 

you let it go for the moment, filling your mug and grabbing a plate for the eggs wanda just made for you. 

“have you asked him?” she whispers.

you purse your lips, “no,” you shrug a little. “i don’t even know what to ask him.”

“ask who, what?” sam interjects.

wanda and you both turn your heads to look at him from across the kitchen island, and steve and bucky stop their conversation to watch. 

“i- uhm…” you don’t know what to say. 

luckily, you don’t have to think of a response because bucky speaks up. “wilson, are you pestering my girl?”

wanda nudges your side with her elbow, a gesture that you know means i’ve got your back. “your girl, huh?”

bucky blushes, poorly suppressing a sheepish grin. steve chuckles at bucky’s change in demeanor. 

“well, yeah, she’s my girl.”

“i am?”

bucky’s brows furrow in confusion and for a moment, a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “do you not want to be?”

you bite the inside of your lip, nervous to confess this so publicly. “truthfully i didn’t even know i was your girl.”

“oh.”

the kitchen is silent for a moment. sam waits to hear what bucky has to say, or if you have something else to add to explain the situation.

your foot lightly hits the ground. you’re fidgeting; only bucky can make you this nervous with butterflies. “that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be.”

bucky perks up and he nods, finally getting the misunderstanding between you two. 

sam’s laugh breaks the silence. “you’re such an idiot.” he grabs an apple and pats bucky’s back on the way out, steve following right behind him, their voices fading as they get farther down the hallway. 

bucky grabs his own mug and pours himself some coffee while you sit at the island and silently eat your eggs. wanda and vision eventually clean up their dishes and head off to some training task, leaving you alone in the kitchen with bucky. 

as you put your plate in the sink, he asks “did you really not know you’re my girl?”

you run the faucet, not wanting to look at him because it’ll make you more nervous. “you never asked me.”

his flesh hand dances on your hip, spinning you around to face him. “okay…” you glance between his eyes and his lips, settling on his eyes. he mirrors your actions. “then… do you want to be my girl, y/n?”

“i-” you twiddle your fingers, hand at your side. he has you pinned against the counter. 

“gonna give me an answer, peaches? or just leave me hanging?” he’s teasing you, face getting closer with each new quip. his nose practically touches yours. 

at last, you breathe out a quiet “yes,” and bucky chuckles at you.

“can i kiss you, peaches?”

too speechless to say it, you nod, his metal hand reaching to cup your face. his lips connect with yours and it’s electrifying. your stomach flips and you get so caught up that you grip his henley, afraid that you’ll collapse with how lovestruck he has you. when he sucks on your bottom lip, you let out another gasp and you feel bucky’s lips turn up in a smirk as he pulls away. 

still cupping your face, he smiles at you. you smile back, saying something that has bucky’s eyes glinting with pride. 

Natasha has never been able to put her finger on what bugs her about you so much. Maybe it’s your negativity. Not that Natasha is exactly an optimistic ray of light but you never seem to have a decent thing to say. About the team, about the missions, about the world. You have a permanent chip on your shoulder and nobody can change your mind about anything.

It doesn’t help that you can’t make eye contact with anyone. Not with that costume that you always wear. When she’d asked Tony about it he’d just shrugged and said “They’d prefer to keep their identity a secret.”

“From the world I can understand. Peter does the same.” Natasha had replied “But surely we should know what they look like? What if we have to… Identify them someday? And if they’re walking around the compound, well, it would be easy for anyone-”

“A select few people know what they look like and their legal name in case of emergencies.” Tony had replied, continuing to tinker with his suits like this conversation was boring him “All appropriate security measures are in place. We have to respect their wishes. If they want to remain anonymous then fine. We need them on the team Nat.”

Natasha knows that’s true. With your powers you’re a major asset to the team. You had the ability to phase through material, meaning you could basically walk through walls. Very handy on any mission – you could phase in, disable any alarms and the rest of the Avengers could follow in without any detection far more easily. Not that there had been many missions since the blip but Natasha knew you were still very much needed on the team.

You’d been working with Nebula, seeing if you could harness your power, to make them stronger. Natasha had watched as you’d resisted engaging with the training, continuing to be negative about absolutely everything. It made her blood boil and as she watched, she realised that she didn’t like you. Not even a little bit.

Natasha thought for the most part that she did a good job of hiding it. Until she was paired with you in training one day. Natasha had noticed you weren’t as strong a fighter as the others, that you relied more on blocking and defending rather than fighting, and she’d used to her advantage. She’d brought you down within seconds until Steve had barked at her to ‘knock it off’. She’d stood above you, panting and wiping sweat off her forehead as you’d pulled yourself to your feet and scuttled out of the gym. That would show you, Natasha had thought, to pay attention during training. Steve had given her Hell for that but she didn’t care. She just didn’t like you and she began to not care who knew about it.

Which is why she’s not thrilled that she’s been paired with you on the mission to retrieve the stones.

It’s been five years since Thanos snapped away half of the world’s population and now they’re so close to getting them back. Natasha was desperate to get everyone back – her sister, Yelena, had disappeared along with everyone else and Natasha had thought of her every single day for the past five years. Whereas you had seemed… Almost indifferent to the situation at hand. As if you didn’t even care that half of the earth’s population had just disappeared.

“Me and Clint could go together.” Natasha says “We work well together, we-”

“You’re taking them. End of story.” Steve replies.

“Steve, come on.” Natasha says, hearing a childish whine in her voice and clearing her throat “You know I don’t like them. It’s hard to go on a mission with someone you don’t work well with-”

“I’ve seen you go on missions with Tony-”

“I don’t dislike Tony.” That’s not always entirely true but Natasha knows she prefers the sarcastic billionaire to you “Please Steve? This is important. I’d rather be with Clint.”

“I need Clint with me. Sorry Nat. You’re going to have to make do.”

Natasha seethes and goes to find you, finding you’re already ready. You’re the only one not wearing the matching ensemble and you stick out like a sore thumb in your black outfit, your face concealed as always. You don’t look like part of the team. Natasha supposes that suits you; given you’ve never had a high opinion of any of them. Still, she shoves it aside in favour of the mission. She’s so close to getting her little sister back and she’s not letting anything get in the way of that, least of all you “Are you ready?”

You simply nod in response and even that makes Natasha grind her teeth with irritation. It’s like no matter what you do it bothers her in some way. Part of her is surprised that you don’t have some sarcastic comment to make but you seem uncharacteristically quiet as everyone gears up.

Your mission is relatively simple – retrieve the soul stone. Nebula had been able to provide its location and some information, and Natasha figured it seemed straight-forward enough. You’d be back in no time and you could fix this whole mess. Soon she'd be reunited with her sister.

Before either of you knows it you’re in Vormir “Simple retrieval mission, right?” Natasha says “We get the stone and we go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Natasha glances at you – there’s something about your posture that makes her pause. She can’t see your face but she can tell you know something that she doesn’t, something that’s bothering you “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you were listening properly. That figures, the great Natasha Romanoff thinks she knows everything. The stone requires a sacrifice.” When Natasha doesn’t reply you continue “It means that only one of us gets to go back.”

Natasha’s nose scrunches up and she shakes her head “You’re wrong. There’s no way that-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Thanos threw his own daughter over the edge of this mountain to get the stone. Because that’s what it requires.” You turn to look at her and Natasha wishes not for the first time that she could see your face “A soul for a soul.”

Natasha walks to the cliff edge, looking down. Maybe what you’re saying isn’t so crazy after all and she feels her stomach clench. Not that Natasha’s afraid of heights, it’s just… She’s so close. To getting Yelena back, to helping Clint get his family back. There’s so much she wants to do. She’d spent her whole childhood as a prisoner, she’d finally earned back that freedom and now-

“It should be me. The one who jumps.”

Natasha turns to look at you, hearing the defeated tone in your voice. The way you’ve already made your mind up and that you know Natasha won’t argue with you. She knows she should argue. Tell you that you both need to discuss it, that you can’t just decide something like that but the words get stuck in her throat. Because she wants to live. And if she’s being honest… She can’t get too worked up about your fate. Of course Natasha’s never wished you ill, especially not dead, but if it’s between the two of you… Well, you don’t seem to have anyone waiting for you.

“Are you sure?” Is all that Natasha eventually manages.

You nod, taking a step closer to the cliff’s edge and looking down. Natasha watches you, her heart thumping in her chest as a feel of unease starts to spread through her body. This isn’t right. Nobody should have to sacrifice themselves to undo what Thanos did. And maybe she’s wrong; maybe you do have someone waiting for you. For all Natasha knows you have kids, a partner, a whole life that she’d never been made aware of.

“Were you waiting for anyone?” Natasha asks “To come back from the snap?”

You shake your head; turning now to face her “Nah. Nobody cares about me. It should be you who gets to go back; I know you want to see your sister.”

Natasha’s eye-brows raise, surprised that you knew that. She speaks about Yelena a lot but she’d never realised you’d been listening “Is there anyone… Do you want me to…”

You shake your head again and Natasha’s eyes widen when she sees you reaching for your mask, pulling it off your face. For the first time Natasha gets to see your face and what strikes her immediately is just how young you are. She’s been working with you for three years now but you still look baby-faced “You- You’re-” She takes a step closer “You’re just a kid.”

“I’m fifteen. And my name’s Y/N. Maybe… Maybe you could tell them that. When you get back.”

Natasha sees your eyes filling with tears, the way that your hands are shaking “Y/N?”

“Tell them I was brave. Please? I’ve got no one waiting for me. Honestly, I… I should’ve died the moment I was born. But I didn’t. I guess the universe needed me for this all along.” You give her a small, tearful smile “I hope it works. I hope you get to see your sister again.”

“Y/N, wait-”

It’s too late. You take a step back and begin plummeting to the ground before Natasha can even react. She jumps forward but it’s too late, her hands grabbing at thin air as she hits the ground, her eyes closing as she hears the sound of your body hitting the ground. She can't look, she won't.

You were fifteen.

You were fucking fifteen years old. Natasha remembers the times she’d embarrassed you at training, had deliberately made sure there was no room for you in common areas because she couldn’t deal with your constant negativity, had rolled her eyes at your petulance. Of course you were angsty – you were a kid with a chip on your shoulder. Natasha doesn’t know much about your past but it must be bad if you truly believed at fifteen there was no one in the world to miss you. Natasha’s heart squeezes. She knows what it’s like to feel alone in the world. She’d crawled her way out of that loneliness and built a life, a family. You should’ve had that too. Natasha should’ve supported you. But she hadn’t. She’d bullied you.

Maybe if she’d taken the time to talk to you. To ask why you were so negative, why you felt the world was against you… At least she could’ve done something.

A moment later Natasha has the soul stone in her hand. She looks down at it - the tiny rock that you’d just given your life for. She clenches her fist and takes a deep breath; her eyes fill with tears as she remembers your face just moments before you’d stepped off the cliff. If only she’d been there for you. You could’ve been a damn good Avenger with the right guidance.

Natasha stands up, the previous euphoria of potentially getting to see Yelena again after all this time replaced with a deep sense of guilt and shame. How could she have let you jump over the cliff? How could she have bullied you all this time? You were so young. And scared. That’s the bit that makes Natasha’s heart squeeze the most.

He paid attention in a way most people didn’t. Not the loud kind, not the prying kind. Just quiet observation, patterns, and pauses. He noticed the things others dismissed: the way your fingers twitched when a voice got too sharp. The way your leg bounces nervously when the room turns tense. The way your eyes never quite met anyone’s after a hard mission.

And most of all, he noticed when you were suddenly gone.

Not physically. Not entirely. Just… hushed. Faded. The kind of gone where your seat at the table was still warm, your plate barely touched. The kind of gone where you stopped making eye contact, stopped breathing deep, stopped existing in the room even if you were still in it. The kind where your powers were not needed at all to remove your presence from a space.

Then overtime, he learned the different ways you could vanish. And unlike others, he didn’t joke about it. Didn’t push or pull or guilt you back. He just waited. A silent and steady presence to turn to.

The first time it happened, he stood in your doorway for ten full minutes, speaking to the air. Not because he thought it would fix anything. But because he knew what it meant to be terrified, voiceless, and unseen, yet still wanting someone to come find you anyway.

After that, it became a kind of rhythm between you. A quiet understanding. Then, the similarities began to show themselves. You weren’t touchy, and neither was he. Your voice was soft, never one to stand out in a room full of people. He was quiet, selective who he spoke to as he watched more than he engaged. You didn't open up easily. But you know he also struggled to do so as well. And when the world pressed too close and you disappeared into silence, he was the only one who could sit with it without trying to fix you.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the beginning. But it was intimate.

In the moments you let yourself be visible, Bucky saw you in ways no one else did. The slight tilt of your lips when you made a dry joke. The way you tilted your head when you were curious, and the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t at you. He never made it a big deal. Never made you feel small, insecure, or unworthy. Not even when you couldn’t quite express how you felt and never for existing.

He just noticed. And remembered.

So when your door clicked shut, and you didn’t speak, didn’t eat, didn’t check in? He knew. Because this man had memorized both your presence and absence like a shadow. It was what led him behind your door now, knocking three times. Three simple, soft taps. The kind that asked for permission, not attention.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Doll?” His voice was soft, the edge of gravel worn down into silk. “I know you’re in here.”

Still, you stayed quiet. Hidden. Gone.

The door creaked open. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need them to know you were there. Sometimes you cursed his super soldier hearing.

“I saw you leave the training room without speaking to anyone. That’s not like you.”

There was no accusation in his voice. Just concern. Measured, careful concern. He stepped in further, and you saw the glint of metal catch the moonlight through your window.

“I know what it’s like,” He said after a long pause. “To want the whole world to stop seeing you. To disappear because it’s safer that way.”

You turned your head slightly, though you weren’t sure why. He still couldn’t see you. No one could.

“I used to hide,” He continued. “Behind orders. Behind missions. Behind… the Soldier.”

The reference hit the air with a dull ache. He sat down on the floor, not too close, but close enough.

“I’m not sure what happened. Maybe I never will. But I know you don’t have to be alone.”

You heard a quiet rustle before spotting his hand reaching out, palm up, resting between you both.

“I won’t touch you. I won’t even look, unless you want me to. Just know I’ll be here.”

Your breath hitched. Not because of the panic, but because of him. He stayed yet again. You still can’t get used to it, like somehow you’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth it.

But minutes passed, maybe an hour or more. Who knows. Bucky had learned the hard way how to sit with silence. How to let it breathe instead of trying to fill it. How sometimes just being there meant more than any words.

But slowly, carefully, you let the invisibility fade. Like dust in sunlight. Your fingers, trembling and pale, reached out and barely brushed his.

His hand didn’t move. Instead, you heard his voice, gentle and soft.

“There you are,” Bucky whispered, a ghost of a smile upon his face.

Something in his chest loosened. Not relief exactly, but… a sense of trust. Pride almost. You trusted him enough to come back, to be seen.

Because for the first time all day, you weren’t afraid. You weren’t alone nor unseen. He had stayed there, grounding you.

Your voice didn’t answer him, not out loud. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned just a little closer, the barest shift of weight, but he felt it. You were still trembling, but you weren’t hiding. Not from him.

He turned his palm so his fingers could wrap lightly around yours. Not tight. Just enough to remind you he was there.

“I know the world feels like too much sometimes,” He began quietly. “I don’t blame you for disappearing. I used to want to do it all the time. Hell, I did.”

He gave a short, hollow laugh; no humor, just memory.

“When I first came here, I kept thinking: If I can just vanish, if I can just keep still enough, no one will look at me like I’m broken. Like I’m dangerous. Like I’m one bad memory away from snapping.”

You shifted. Still silent, but listening. He could feel it.

“I saw that same look in your eyes today. Like you were made of glass and someone was swinging a hammer.”

The grip of your hand tightened slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want. But if you need someone who gets it, you know I’m here.”

He tilted his head toward you, careful to keep his movements soft.

“No pressure,” He said quickly, a beat of hesitation filling the space before he added. “Just… if you ever wanna disappear, let me be the one who waits with you in the silence.”

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper:

“Okay.” You nodded. It was tiny, fragile; but Bucky felt it like a damn earthquake.

You didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t move an inch.

They knew that you were Bucky Barnes’ everything. That you were more important than anything that Bucky had come to love in this new world he was being introduced to. That you were introducing him to. They knew that if they got to you, they’d get their soldier back because Bucky would sacrifice himself for you any day. He had miscalculated because you would do the same for him.

After everything that Hydra had done to him, after everything they had done to ruin his life and make him into a weapon to terrorize the masses with, this was the worst thing that they had ever done to torture him. One miss-step and the building was coming down, crumbling around you as you were knocked out, placed in the current coma you were under in the Med Bay.

He had sworn that the moment happened in slow-motion. One minute you were fighting off two agents while Bucky and Clint fought some others and Nat snatched the flash drive from the control panel. The next, a grenade had gone off, an explosion erupting, sending you all stumbling out of the remains. Once Bucky was able to get up, he found your body, your face battered and bruised with a large gash across your jaw.

He had never felt so helpless, so worthless in his life. He cradled your head, breathless. In a moment of instant panic, he hoisted you in his arms and ran to the quinjet where you were rushed back to the compound.

Bucky wasn’t the only one hurting in the wake of your severe condition. Steve had been pacing the whole ten hours that you were in surgery with Bruce and Dr. Cho while Wanda sought comfort in Vision in the waiting room. She had been crying since she saw her best friend beaten to a pulp.

Tony consoled Pepper who was a crying mess and Bucky could just see how badly your father wanted to burst into a sob. His baby girl was fighting for her life and all of the resentment he felt towards the man who had taken his daughter away from him, kept threatening to spill out in the middle of the mass amount of medical professionals he had employed.

Bucky didn’t have it in him to even move a single muscle. He sat in the chair where he had watched you get wheeled behind swinging doors with doctors and nurses rushing to give you oxygen and check your pulse.

Your blood was stained onto his hands, ingrained into the divots and creases near his flesh knuckles. His metal hand had formed into a fist, teeth gritted as he rocked himself on his feet. He wanted to scream or cry but he felt nothing, he didn’t allow himself to. It was his fault that you were so damaged and he felt the full force of guilt weighing him down in the same way that Hydra had forced him to harm thousands of people. He felt their pain; he saw the fear in their eyes. He had ruined so many lives and now you were suffering the same fate all because of him.

His eyes were becoming almost too heavy to keep open. The bags under his eyes weighed heavy and he wanted to sleep so bad. But he couldn’t. He was far too afraid that he’d fall asleep and you’d slip away without giving him a chance to say goodbye. Back during his Hydra days, he had been accustomed to keeping his eyes open for days at a time. He was too fragile to keep them closed while the threat of torture and murder bit at his heels like wild dogs.

These days, he was so used to sleeping within seconds that his head hit the pillow. It wasn’t the bed that let him dream peacefully but the woman in his arms. You had made everything easy for him; you were an angel.

No sleep had been in the foreseeable future as he stared at you from the chair beside your bed. It had been three days since you had returned from the mission and you were still not awake. Bucky hadn’t moved much either, insisting on staying put besides taking a shower but other than that, Steve basically had to force food down his throat. Bucky felt as though he didn’t deserve to eat if you weren’t able to.

He could see your grin so vividly, picturing how excited you got when it was time for lunch. He remembered your date at the diner his mom used to take him to as a kid and how much you loved everything about the place. Bucky could care less about where he took you as long as you were there because he loved you.

But now, now you were in a coma, your face swollen and patched up while various tubes filtered through your skin. He could barely stomach looking at what he had done but he forced himself to. He deserved to go through the pain of knowing what he did while you were in pain inflicted by him. He had sworn he’d protect you and take care of you but somewhere along the line, he had failed. He didn’t think that there was a way to fix this but he sure as hell needed you to wake up.

“Buck?” Steve called from the door of your med bay room and stared at his friend in concern. “Buck.” He repeated but Bucky was in no shape to be listening or talking to others. Not while the love of his life was fighting for her life.

“Bucky.” Steve placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, making his jolt in surprise. He caught his breath and then looked up at the blonde soldier.

“When was the last time you slept, bud?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky mumbled, putting his eyes back on his girl, watching her chest rise and fall to ease some of his jitteriness.

“You should get some rest. She can’t wake up and see you like this. You’re a mess.”

“If. If she wakes up. Based off of how it’s going, it’s not lookin’ too good, bud.” He spat in annoyance. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone to wallow?

Steve sighed and deep down knew that all of this had been built up. Bucky had been so afraid of losing you while you were perfectly fine that now you were actually hurt, he was a void of who he used to be. “She’s going to. You have to believe that she will because the way you’re going about it, it’s all wrong.”

“Leave me alone, Rogers.”

“Bucky-”

“Just leave.” Steve was no stranger to Bucky’s pointed attitude and somewhat off-putting remarks but he had a feeling that this was cutting deeper than any blade to pierce The Winter Soldier’s skin.

“I’ll be back around dinnertime. I’ll bring you something up. And please, just get some rest.” Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder before exiting the room and calling Wanda’s visit off. Wanda visited at least three times a day to try and get a reading on you but you were talented at blocking her signals, even when incapacitated.

Bucky glanced at your face, the most gorgeous face he had ever seen and felt tears welling up in his ocean blue eyes. There was a harshly wrapped bandage over your right cheekbone from where they had to sew up the deep gash that had made its way through your soft flesh.

The bruises were now turning a yellowish color as opposed to the darkened blue and purple that rose to your temple and jaw bone. There were various cuts littered over your cheeks and chin, ones even close to your eyes. Your lip had been busted and had to be sewn to aid in healing but your entire mouth was swollen.

A few salty droplets glided down Bucky’s cheek and his heart ached at what he had done. He hadn’t saved you in time and now he may never have time with you again.

Somewhere between the afternoon and evening, Bucky had left briefly to take an inhumanly fast shower before heading back to be with you. He sat at the edge of the bed you had shared and he sighed. He hadn’t had much time to grieve even though his thoughts tormented him at all seconds of the day. He began to let his eyes wander around.

They first hit the small couch that was in your room. It was deep onyx black with golden pillows set atop of it because you wanted it to mirror the color scheme of your own Iron Man suit. Bucky let out a breathy laugh softly to himself as he remembered when he was trying to read a book on the bed and after a few moments of silence, you threw a pillow at his head, engaging a pillow fight that ended in a stubbed toe and a broken lamp.

Next, he noticed some of your clothes left haphazardly on the floor, ones that he had specifically asked you to throw in the hamper before heading to the quinjet. Yet now, he didn’t have the heart to move them. He searched for you, in everything and anything. Of course, everything in that damn room had a memory laced within it. But one, in particular, was the framed photograph beside your bed. It captured a moment of pure bliss. You leaned up, kissing Bucky on the cheek while his eyes crinkled and was laughing because you licked his cheek.

He couldn’t help but let the dam break as sobs ripped through his taut chest and he buried his head in his hands. How could he lose you? How could he lose the one thing in his life that made his sorry life worth living in the damn first place? He wanted to break something, he wanted to scream and cry but he wanted you to be there to calm him down, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. But you weren’t there and it wasn’t okay. It wouldn’t be okay, not ever.

He must have been loud because a knock at the door made him snap out of his fit and get up, wiping away his self-inflicted pity tears. His eyes were red and cheeks were flushed as he opened the door and allowed his shoulders to sink.

“Thought a cat was dying in here based on the sounds you were making, my god.” Tony rolled his eyes, pressing passed Bucky and sitting down on the couch.  “But then it occurred to me, you don’t have a cat! You don’t have a cat in here, right Barnes?”

“No sir, we don’t have a cat.” Bucky looked down at his feet as he approached the living space and sighed. You loved animals and while getting a cat might not be the pet you had always wanted, Bucky would get you as many fucking cats as you damn well pleased.

“Look, my kid is a strong woman. She’s fighting and as much as I dislike you, she seems to really care for you. So, what I can do is make sure that while she’s not here, that you are taking care of yourself. Look at you, Barnes. I’m guessing you haven’t slept in three days? Neither have I. But, you need to. You won’t be any help for her if you’re not taking care of yourself first.”

“Mr. Stark, she means everything to me and this is all my fault. The love of my entire long ass life is practically dying on an uncomfortable bed with a patch-work face and broken limbs all because of me. Hydra fucking knew that she was my greatest weakness.”

Tony sighed and cut Bucky off. “Is it really a weakness to love someone? I love Pepper. I painstakingly will admit that I love my friends. But my daughter, I love my daughter more than my own amazingly pathetic life and that isn’t the weakness people tell you it is.” Tony stopped to look around the room and spotted a Metallica shirt on the floor. “Brat took my favorite shirt.” And then he shook his head.

“Anyway, blah, blah, blah with all the ‘love is a strength’ and all that bullshit but there may be some truth in what they say. I’m not Iron Man because I like covering myself in titanium alloy for fun. Although my ass looks fantastic in red and gold. I might do it a little bit because I have a praise kink but that’s neither here nor there.” Bucky scoffed and Tony hit him upside the head, Bucky rubbing at the ache.

“Ultimately when it comes down to it, I became Iron Man because of the people I love, to protect them and make sure they get to be safe and live and enjoy life for all the reasons they were put on the earth to begin with.”

Bucky looked up at Tony in surprise reverence. Sure, he respected your father but he hadn’t had the easiest relationship with him. “I love her more than anything in this world and now-now I might lose her. So, how can I take care of myself when she’s in there, not able to laugh and talk and do whatever she wishes to do when it’s all on me?”

Free tears straggled down his face and he resigned in a chair across from where Tony sat. He had never thought in a million years that he’d be pouring out his heart to a man who seemed to hate him more than wearing the same suit within three months' time; Stark’s never wore the same thing twice until three months after wearing it the first time. He knew that from you.

Tony narrowed his eyes, studying the man’s depressed features. He understood what mourning felt like, what the weight of the world felt like as it bore down on his shoulders. It was too much and by the time he had realized it, the weight had broken his back. If he couldn’t do anything to help you, he’d help the next best thing.

“I’m going to be honest. I blamed you. Hydra targeted my daughter because she’s with you and you love her and all that garbage. She wouldn’t have been the main target otherwise.” He paused, drawing in a breath. Bucky flinched in shame and regret, knowing that it was his doing, that the world would lose an amazing person as a sacrifice to keeping the likes of him, a monster.

“However, I said I blamed you, as in the past.” Bucky looked up, hopeful with a warm sensation growing within his chest.

“You had no control over the situation and I can relate when it comes to trauma, Bucky. I am no stranger to taking in that burden of guilt and I’ll tell you, it’s fucking heavy.” Bucky nodded, understanding exactly what those words meant.

He had never known Tony Stark to have so many problems that actually affected him but you had often told him about your childhood. Tony was a great father but he dealt with a lot from your mother abandoning you to the fear of living a life where he had failed to save everyone around him. Bucky understood that pain, that agony that kept one up at odd hours in the night. He understood the yearning for love and compassion that had driven him to deserve love from you in the first place. You were his saving grace and he had to owe it all to the man in front of him.

“It’s not your fault for what played out. You have to understand that my daughter, much like me, is strong-willed and so damn stubborn. She doesn’t need a protector or a white knight. She’s going to do whatever she wants and she knew the consequences that came with being your girlfriend.” He rubbed his hands together, looking Bucky dead in the eye.

“She loves you, man. I don’t know why, but she absolutely, unequivocally loves you.” It pained your dad to accept that you weren’t his baby anymore but a grown woman who he couldn’t be any prouder of. Bucky tried to swallow through the thick air, thinking about how much he fucking loved you. You were his one. He was dead set on marrying you and he had to believe that there was still a future where that could all happen.

“She wouldn’t want you to be beating yourself up because of what happened so you shouldn’t. Get some rest, eat a pancake. Then, get your ass back up there and wait for her to wake up. The last thing she wants to see is Steve’s annoyingly handsome face fawning over her as the first sight she has seen in days. Trust me, I should know.”

Tony shrugged and got up methodically, pushing his hands in his pant pockets and heading for the door, leaving Bucky with a lot to think about.

“Thank you, sir.” Bucky spoke earnestly, purely from the heart. He needed to hear it and who would have thought it’d come from Tony Stark? Tony stood and grabbed his Metallica shirt off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Mhm. Tell anyone about this little pow-wow and I’ll be sending your ass a-packing.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky nodded as Tony exited, closing the door lightly. Maybe he was right, maybe it really wasn’t his fault but some part of him was wired to take responsibility for hurt and destruction that came to others. He had just been used to harboring the blame and guilt but now he seemed oddly lighter.

Taking up Tony’s advice, Bucky rested his head against your pillow, taking in the smell of your shampoo that had left traced behind in the soft silk. In an instant, his eyes closed, dreaming of you, your laugh, your smile. God, did he love that smile. He loved you.

He got a few good hours of sleep before Friday initiated his wake up sequence where he had to be woken gently as to not trigger him.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“What Fri?” Bucky sat up, rubbing the sleep away from his blurry eyes.

“It is imperative that you go to the med bay.” Bucky’s eyes opened wide, worry sending shock waves of pins and needles throughout his body. He stood up at an instant, not caring about what a mess the bed was.

“Why?! Is she okay?” He launched himself out of bed, rushing to the door to run into the med bay wing.

The girl sitting in front of the mirror understood the hesitation, the fear that gripped her mother’s heart. She saw it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way her hands shook ever so slightly as she worked. Her mother didn’t understand, couldn’t. How could she? How could anyone? The love she shared with Bucky wasn’t something that could be explained in simple words or the framework of time. It wasn’t about waiting until after the war — it was about the now. It was about carving a life together, even if that life was destined to be brief. It was about this moment. And if the war did its worst, she needed to know the world would remember their love.

“Maybe there won’t be an after,” she whispered, almost to herself, the weight of the words heavier than she intended.

Her mother paused, the hairspray can still in her hand, but didn’t turn to look at her. Instead, she leaned in, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head, the warmth of the gesture lingering long after she pulled away. She returned to her task, the silence between them thick with unsaid things. Her mother didn’t have to say anything. She knew the question was unanswerable, the truth too raw to put into words.

The memory had been burning its way into her thoughts since the moment she woke up that morning. Over the years, the pain had dulled – god knows it had been long enough. But on days like today it felt like the pain all came flooding back – like she hadn’t moved forward from that day, and all the tragedy that followed, at all. It was her second least favourite day of the year: their wedding anniversary.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A familiar voice interrupted her self-pity from the doorway of her office. He knew what day it was. And she was certain he was here to make sure she wasn’t spiralling into the familiar, unending depths of grief she had been known to inhabit.

She mustered a small smile, relief creeping over her features as he walked in and sat in the chair opposite her. “Just reminiscing.” She typed quickly, finishing the email she absolutely had to send now, before giving her full attention to the Captain.

“Seventy-four years, huh? Hard to believe.” Steve leant back in the chair, his hands clasped neatly over his lap. She could feel him examining her every move, looking for signs of weakness no doubt. He continued; “How’re you holding up?”

She sighed. “I’m doing okay, Steve. Going to visit his grave later… if you want to join?” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose–”

She shook her head at him, cutting him off with a gentle firmness. “Nonsense, Stevie. You’re never imposing. We’ll go to the cemetery and then grab some italian from that place in Brooklyn?” 

He nodded, his features softening. He knew that her insistence was not her being kind – it was an unspoken way of asking him not to leave her alone. “Italian it is.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their moment. The agent standing in the doorway straightened, a look of respect on his face. “Sorry to disturb you, Commander. Fury’s requesting your presence in his office.”

Her gaze flicked up from the papers in front of her, her expression shifting from the kind, friendly one that Steve was used to, to the calm professionalism of the former head of SHIELD and current Commander. “I’ll be right there, Agent. Thank you.” 

She stood up from her desk, the movement deliberate, Steve following her lead. “Sorry, Steve. Duty calls.” Her tone softened slightly, but still carried the weight of someone used to giving orders.

“Right you are, Commander.” He smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a small, fond smile. Her heels clicked down the hall, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet office. Left behind in the silence, Steve reached for the photo frame on her desk, his fingers brushing over the glass as he studied the picture. 

Both of his best friends, looking the happiest they’d ever been. Him, too, standing to the right of Bucky. He still considered it one of the greatest honours of his life, to have been Bucky’s best man -- to stand at the altar as his two best friends committing their lives to one another.

Back when each other was all they had. They always had an extra inhaler on hand for him, just in case, and secret codewords for when he wasn’t feeling well, so he didn’t have to explain his chronic health conditions to anyone else. When she wasn’t commander, she was just (y/n), and when she wasn’t visiting Bucky’s grave instead of celebrating an anniversary they should’ve spent old and grey together.

Back when they were just kids, ready to be shipped off to war. 

The church was full, but it might as well have been empty. It was just the two of them at that moment. Just Bucky and her, standing at the altar in front of their family and friends, yet none of that mattered. Everything else — the wedding guests, the flowers, the music — faded away, leaving only the man in front of her.

Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t think he noticed. She tried to keep her mind away from the next steps, from the inevitable. They had no idea what would happen when they were shipped off to the other side of the world. Neither of them did. This moment was all they had.

Bucky stood tall in his uniform, as handsome as she remembered from their first meeting, when he had looked at her with those wide brown eyes and a grin that made her stomach flip. His strong hands gripped hers tightly, like he was afraid to let go. His jaw was tight, his shoulders squared — he was trying to hold it together, just like she was.

The minister spoke, but her attention was fixed on him. The slight furrow of his brow, the way his mouth turned down in concentration, the way he steadied his breath before every word. She wanted to reach out, pull him into her arms, and whisper that everything would be fine. But she couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t promise that.

"Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take (y/n) to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, in war and in peace, as long as you both shall live?" The minister's voice was deep, but it seemed so far away.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her hand. "I do."

The weight of that simple phrase hung in the air between them, pulling at the corners of her heart. The words were not just an affirmation of love, but a promise — one that would either be honoured in the years to come, or one that would be broken by the unforgiving hands of fate.

The minister turned to her, his eyes kind, yet somber. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down as her hands shook. "And do you, (y/n), take James Buchanan Barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, in war and in peace, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

The minister smiled softly, as though understanding what they were really asking of each other — what they were really saying. This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a promise, forged in the fires of uncertainty, that they would try to carry their love into whatever came next, whether that was days, months, or years.

Bucky squeezed her hands once, then brought them up to his lips, kissing the back of her hand gently. She saw the soft smile on his lips, the one that always made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world. She smiled back, even though the pit in her stomach had only deepened.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York," the minister continued, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Her heart thudded in her chest as Bucky gently cupped her face in his hands. His eyes searched hers for just a moment, full of a hundred unspoken words. Then, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that tasted like heaven and heartbreak. He kissed her like he was memorising the feel of her, like he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to do it again.

Got held up in a meeting, I’ll meet you at the cemetery? The text blinked on her phone screen. She sighed, slipping her coat on and locking her office door. She hadn’t really wanted to go by herself, but she didn’t mind. She knew he would keep his word.

She stepped into the cool New York air, letting the crisp bite of it settle in her lungs. She could have taken a cab, but today, she decided to walk. The weather, the perfect chill she had once shared with Bucky, should have brought some comfort. They had always loved walking on days like this – finishing with a steaming hot cup of cocoa from Marcels’ street cart. She could almost taste it, even though Marcel and his cart were long gone. Today, it was different. The cold air was suffocating, like a reminder that she would never have that again.

She got there quicker than she intended to, having realised she was marching there. The squeak of the poorly-maintained gate interrupted the eerie silence of the cemetery, even the wind barely stirring the trees. Not even the noise of the traffic dared to encroach on this hallowed ground, as if the outside world was shut out.

Her feet moved on their own, guided by the kind of muscle memory that only comes from years of repetition. She didn’t need to think about where she was going—she had walked these paths so many times, the route was etched into her mind. She had come here hundreds, maybe thousands, of times.

The last slivers of sunlight were fading, casting long, stretching shadows over the gravestones, highlighting the one she was here to see. 

Sgt. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes Gave his tomorrow for our today. 1917 - 1945

Looking at the familiar stone, she felt the weight of the world pressing into her shoulders. She didn’t cry here these days – she couldn’t bring the tears to fall. It felt more like her heart was being plunged into an ice bath and held until it screamed for air.

“Hi, handsome.” She smiled, touching the top of the stone, ever so lightly. She had noticed, the past few times she had come, that there was a little dip in the stone where she had touched the stone every time she came to visit for the last seventy years. Another reminder of how long she had been alone. 

She remembered him at the altar, standing tall as her father walked her down the aisle. He had been a strapping young man, full of strength and kindness, with an unshakable need to protect those around him. She had adored his Sergeant’s uniform — the way it spoke of everything he had endured, his unwavering dedication, and the spirit that had always driven him. It was that same uniform he wore when he became her husband, in that perfect moment when she thought maybe everything would be okay.

And then, last year, she had seen it again — his uniform — displayed at the Smithsonian exhibition. The sight of it, the memory of him in it, hit her like a punch to the gut. She had barely managed to hold it together long enough to step away, stumbling to the bathroom where she had collapsed in front of the sink, choking back bile.

A sudden shift caught her attention – the crunch of a footstep. There hadn’t been anyone else here. Her instincts kicked in before her mind could process the danger. Her hand dropped to her side where her concealed knife rested, fingers brushing the hilt as she turned on her heel. 

A shadow at the edge of the cemetery. The figure stepped into the rapidly dimming light, revealing a man clad in dark tactical gear, his face obscured by a mask and goggles. A glinting silver arm by his side. It wasn’t the kind of thing you wore to visit a graveyard.

For a moment, as they locked eyes, there was nothing but silence. She thought, just for a second, that there was something familiar about him. There was a stiff hesitance in his actions – his face turned briefly from her to the gravestone she was visiting. It wasn’t the right time to think about it, and she wasn’t one to say no to an advantage in a fight.

In one fluid motion, she drew her blade and without missing a beat, she moved. She sprinted towards him, adrenaline surging in her veins, and threw herself in a roll to the side. The assailant’s reaction was immediate – his metal arm shot out to intercept, but she was quicker. She ducked low and spun around, coming up on his left side and launching a series of precise strikes.

Her knife aimed for his throat, but he blocked it effortlessly with his metal arm, the screech of metal against metal echoing in the still air.

The man moved quickly, the metal arm slashing towards her with terrifying speed. She dodged to the side, her own body moving like a blur but narrowly avoiding the strike. She retaliated immediately, aiming a series of rapid strikes at his torso, testing his defences once again.

His reactions were sharp, almost inhumanly so. Faster than anyone she had ever seen. She managed to keep pace with his dizzying movements, moving with the fluidity of someone who had done this dance many times before.

She threw another jab, hitting his side. It did nothing – she hadn’t managed to land an effective attack yet, and she was one of the best in SHIELD at hand-to-hand. There was something not right here, something she was missing… 

Taking advantage of her failed hit, his boot connected with her chest, sending her crashing against one of the gravestones. She hit the ground hard, but didn’t stay there – she rolled with the momentum, popping back to her feet smoothly, eyes never leaving her opponent.

He lunged forward, slashing upwards with his knife. She screamed as it made contact with her cheekbone, her hand moving up to cover her new wound and wincing at the claret staining it as she pulled away. She tried to ready herself for his next move, but with the distraction, he was too fast. His strikes were brutal, calculating, each one designed to incapacitate. She was no stranger to close combat but she struggled to match him blow for blow, as the fight dragged on.

She began to feel the weight of her exhaustion. The assailant was relentless, she would give him that. Like a force of nature. She couldn’t help but feel more and more that the odds were stacking against her. As she tired, the attacker only seemed to get quicker and stronger.

With one miscalculation, she found herself pinned to the ground, his boot pressing into her chest, the cold metal of his arm looming over her. She desperately gasped for breath, struggling beneath his weight as she began to feel her ribs crack – the harder she struggled, the tighter his grip seemed to get.

“Get off!” She shouted, desperate to break free. Her words only seemed to fuel his determination. Maybe this is it, she thought. She took a glance at Bucky’s grave – maybe they would finally be together again. 

As her struggles became weaker and weaker, a haze reached around the edge of her vision. A red, white and blue blur collided with the attacker’s side, sending him stumbling back off of her chest.

“HEY!” Steve’s voice was like the heralding of an angel. She gasped in a breath of relief as the pressure on her chest finally released.

She scrambled up, her heart still hammering – her chest in immeasurable pain. Steve stood between her and the assailant as she felt like she was hacking up half a lung and at least part of her heart. 

“You good?” He called back to her, his eyes unmoving from the man in front of them. The man who previously had been ready to kill her, but now seemed to be showing hesitation once again. She could only cough and splutter in return, but it meant she was breathing at least.

The moment of hesitation passed. 

With a growl, the attacker lunged again, attacking Steve with a fury that made her blood run cold. But Steve was ready. He met the assault with precision, using his shield to parry each blow, his movements fluid and practiced.

The attacker didn’t manage to get through Steve’s defences in the way he had hers, no longer able to use physical strength as an advantage. With a sickening crack, Steve’s shield slammed into the side of his head.

It was a move that would’ve knocked an ordinary man out cold, at the very least. But their assailant simply shook his head, as if trying to clear it. His eyes seemed to lock onto her for a brief moment, and then, in the blink of an eye, he darted back, disappearing into the shadows.

Steve and her both froze, staring at the empty space where he had been.

“What the hell was that?” She muttered, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her legs shook from the adrenaline, and Steve finally tore his eyes away to look at his friend. 

His jaw tightened as he scanned the area. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone move like that.” He turned to her, “Are you hurt?”

“Cut to the face, at least a couple of broken ribs.” She wheezed. “Who the hell was that, and what did they want from me? Why did he run?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but it definitely wasn’t a random thug. That was a highly trained killer. And whoever he is or whatever he works for, they clearly want you gone.”

She shook her head. “If they wanted me gone, why wouldn’t they have just positioned a sniper above the cemetery. This felt personal, Steve.”

He grimaced. There was something deeply troubling about the whole affair. Attacking a widow at her husband’s grave, that wasn’t a coincidence, it was a message. Nothing was sacred, and nowhere is safe.

“We need to go.” He put his arms around her, helping her along as she continued to splutter and cough. She threw one last look back at Bucky’s grave, her own blood splashed across it. Something about the imagery made her shudder.

“You’re not going back to your own apartment, (y/n). You can stay with me.” Steve’s voice was firm, with a strong undercurrent of concern – it was clear that he wasn’t asking, just telling. Normally, she would protect, argue that she needed her space. But after the terrifying encounter in the cemetery, the weight of everything – the fight, the fear, the haunting glimpse of the man sent to kill her – maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t alone.

She tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m technically your superior, Captain. You can’t give me orders.” The teasing edge was there, but it was tired, the last remnants of her usual strength finally slipping away.

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. But there was something in his eyes that told her he wasn’t going to let her play that game tonight.

“Unfortunately, Commander,” he replied, his tone playful but insistent. “I promised my best friend I would look after his wife for the rest of my days before he left for Europe. And that trumps any kind of hierarchy said wife finds herself at the top of.”

She smirked, recalling the days before – before everything went wrong, before there was a permanent hole in her life that took the shape of Bucky Barnes. Before the war. Before everything.

Her smile faltered just slightly as she shifted on the couch, wincing from the pain in her chest. Steve was quick to step closer, his hands hovering near her, ready to help.

“You’re sure you don’t need a doctor?” He asked, his voice quieter now, more like the Steve she had once known – concerned and kind, but with an edge of the stoic man who had seen too much and lost too many.

She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “I’ve broken my ribs a thousand times, Stevie. They can’t do anything but pain management.”

There was no bitterness in her voice, just a simple fact. Her body had carried the marks of war for longer than she cared to count – bruises, scars and the slow, agonising wear of decades spent in battle. They say time heals all wounds, but she had enough marks – physical and mental – to prove that wrong.

He sat down beside her, his frown deepening. “What about the cut on your face?” He asked gently, his eyes scanning the healing wound on her cheek. “Looks like it’s going to scar.”

She reached up slowly, brushing her fingers over the cut, the jagged line that would probably never fade. “Just add it to the list, I guess.” she said quietly. Her voice was light, but there was a hardness in it. She was weary after fighting for so long – fighting to survive, fighting for what’s right, fighting to honour a love that was taken from her before it had a chance to bloom.

Seventy years. And yet, in some ways, she still felt like that woman in the secondhand dress marrying Sergeant Barnes, praying that her husband would come back to her. 

He didn’t. But she had kept going regardless.

A quiet silence filled the room as Steve stood up, moving around his small Brooklyn apartment. The soft clinking of dishes and the rhythmic sounds of him making tea or coffee or whatever else he could find to busy his hands was soothing, almost like a lullaby. 

She sank back into the cushions, closing her eyes as the pain in her side and the exhaustion in her bones began to catch up with her. She had barely slept the night before, and today had been a nightmare in every definition of the word — a fight with some kind of enhanced being, a near-death experience, and now, Steve was here, keeping her from falling into a darkness she wasn’t sure she could crawl out of alone.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured, her voice catching slightly. She didn’t need to pretend in front of Steve, not after everything they’d been through.

Steve moved quickly to her side, adjusting the blanket around her, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t need to say anything. He simply nodded, a small, concerned smile on his lips as he tucked the blanket around her tighter.

“I’ll stay up,” he said softly, his voice steady and comforting. “Keep an eye out. Sweet dreams, (y/n).”

“Thanks, Stevie.” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Her dreams, as they always did, were filled with memories of Bucky. The sound of his laugh, the way he held her hand on their wedding day, the way his arms had felt around her when they said goodbye. And then, the last time she had seen him — the last moment, frozen in time, before everything changed.

“Guess this is it, huh?” His voice was low, filled with both sorrow and resolve.

“So much for a honeymoon.” She smiled, sadly, her fingers brushing over the collar of his uniform. “I just wish I could come with you.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, his hands still resting on her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “You will. In your own way. You’re going to make a difference, (y/n). You’re gonna help save lives.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and she felt it deep in her bones.

"And you’ll be back," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. "You’ll come back to me."

Bucky gave a faint smile, though it was bittersweet. "I’m coming back," he promised, but the weight of it hung between them. "I swear it."

All she could focus on was the warmth of his touch, the strength of his hand holding hers, the slight tremble in his fingertips that betrayed the fear he wasn’t letting anyone see. The two of them stood there, hand in hand, while the world around them celebrated a union that felt both like the beginning of something beautiful and the end of something they couldn’t protect from the violence of war.

I promised, didn't I! Thank you to everyone who voted on my WIP poll, it was super informative!

Reminder you can join my taglist via the google form here <3 Special thank you to @ironwinnerwonderland who specifically requested Bucky Barnes on the form!

PART TWO HERE

In the beginning, you and Steve had agreed on eloping. Getting married in secret and, when people were free, holding a small wedding. Which, undoubtedly would become a grand affair once Tony caught wind of the word small. 

But, when the team learned you were both on your way to elope, they’d stopped you. A real wedding would go ahead and, since they were your family, you both agreed. 

But then Ultron happened. So, the wedding was postponed in order to deal with the aftermath. 

Then Hydra decided to resurface during a mission where Bucky and Sam had gone solo. It had resulted in Bucky and Sam being captured. Mostly, the team were worried they’d kill each other rather than Hydra. 

And they were right to. 

Once they were back and safe, Steve sat them both down with a couple’s therapist. 

Finally finding a date which worked out, the planning had begun again. 

Only, some kid calling himself Spider-Man singlehandedly stopped The Vulture from taking all of Tony’s old tech. 

It was one mission after another. Somewhere in the mix, you and Steve had a conversation over eloping again. 

“Can you be arsed moving from this bed right now?” You asked Steve as you both finally laid down. 

An emergency hostage mission had taken three days to complete. 

Steve sighed. “Not really.”

With a dramatic sigh, you rolled into his side. “Thank god. I love you and I do want to marry you but-”

“You’d rather sleep?”

“Does that make me a bad fiance?”

Steve shook his head. “Only if it makes me one, too.”

With a tired chuckle, you laid your head on his chest. Within seconds you were both fast asleep. The mission (and the shower you’d both shared barely twenty minutes earlier) had taken it out of you. 

So, standing in front of the body length oval mirror, you stared at yourself. 

Dressed in the wedding gown you’d found in a small boutique just down the block from Kate and Yelena’s apartment. You and the girls had been hunting for weeks, but none of the dresses seemed right until you tried on the one you were wearing. 

It was everything you’d ever dreamed of – when you allowed yourself to dream of your wedding day. 

Your flowers that you’d hold whilst walking down the aisle were resting on your desk. Bluebells, peonies, baby's breath; you’re pretty sure when Yelena walked into the florist, she simply asked for flowers that meant ‘everlasting love’. 

Your make-up was suited to you. A little more elevated than your everyday look. Along with your hair, which was decorated by a simple vail. 

But whilst your heart was overflowing with joy and excitement at the idea of finally marrying Steve, something heavy weighed in your gut. 

Then a knock rattled against your suite door. 

“Come in,” you called. 

The door opened a little and a voice spoke softly. “Y/n?”

“Steve?” You hurried over to the door. “What are you doing? You know it’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.”

Steve let out a small chuckle. “Considering all of what we’ve managed to survive through, I doubt that seeing you in your wedding dress is going to change that. We both know it’s not going to be on for very long anyway. Can I come in?”

You let out a sigh in order to hide your laughter. “You know, if the team knew you were as half as dirty as you are, they’d have a heart attack. Come on in.”

Stepping back from the door, you watched as Steve stepped inside. He wasn’t in his full tux yet. 

But, whilst your eyes were raking over your soon-to-be husband’s body, his own were doing the same. 

“My god,” he breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You hoped he’d never stop making you blush. “You can thank Natasha for that one. She’s had me glued to the make-up chair all morning.”

Steve stepped forward, pulling you in by your wait. “I think the only person I need to thank is you. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

With a pleased hum, you lifted your arms around his neck before leaning up and kissing him. “We both got lucky. Now, why are you here?”

A slightly different expression came over Steve’s face. “Fury called.”

You lowered yourself back onto your feet. “Oh.”

Steve let you go gently, watching as you walked over to your desk. “I told him no-”

“But he’s still asking us to go,” you finished before you gave a sigh. “I’m starting to wonder if we should have just eloped.”

Steve nodded as he walked closer. “We still could.”

“When does the jet leave?” 

“Two hours.”

Right in time for the actual start of the ceremony. 

“We’d never get into the court in time.”

Slowly, Steve’s arms wrapped themselves around your waist. You jumped a little before relaxing into him with a smile. “Maybe we could just quit.”

You chuckled. “We still need jobs, Steve. And you’re Captain America. Captain America can’t take a day off.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighed. “Steve Rogers does. I’m sorry, honey.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And I know it’s not really Fury’s fault either but I’m deciding to blame him for now. Calling us in on our day off.”

“Calling us in on our wedding day.”

You chuckled and turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands just held you a little tighter.

“Maybe when we get back we can finally get married.”

Steve kissed you back. “We could still elope.”

“The court house won’t have any free space, would they?”

“We don’t need a court house.”

You stared at Steve. “What?”

“Bucky’s been ordained.”

You reeled back. “What?!”

Steve nodded. “Back in the 40s. Surely it has to still stand?”

“What did he get ordained for?”

Steve smiled. “Our neighbours wanted to get married at the pier but nobody was available. Bucky stepped up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“He asked me not to,” Steve admitted. “He doesn’t do well with huge crowds.”

“Would he do it for us now?”

Steve nodded. “I asked him just before I came in here.”

You stepped back with a wide smile, hitting him on his chest. “Why didn’t you start with that?!”

He smiled. “I’m telling you now. Is that a yes?”

You scoffed, “Of course it’s a yes.”

Kissing him quickly, you turned him around and pushed him towards the door. But he turned back before you could open it. “Wait.”

“What?”

He kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever kiss you. And, technically, it was. The next time you’d kiss him, he’d finally be your husband. 

“Meet me on the stone steps outside,” Steve told you. 

The building that was being used both as your ceremony hall and venue had an old wooden door that led out to a set of small spiral stone steps. From there, it led out towards an orchard and rolling hills. 

“Okay. What about the others?”

“Natasha’s got Yelena on it.”

You smiled. “Okay. Good. Does this make us bad friends?”

Steve shrugged. “When we get back, we’ll hold something for all of them.”

You smiled, leaning over and kissing him quickly. “Okay. Go. Quickly. I love you.”

Steve smiled. “I love you, too.”

Three minutes later, Natasha poked her head into your suite. “Ready?”

You grabbed your bouquet. “Ready.”

Galas hadn’t always been your thing. Although you enjoyed the idea of getting dressed up and doing something good, then you were all there for it. Just not this time. Glancing around, seeing weapons and valuables that you had fought for, now behind glass and just being presented to the public, did not feel right. And it shouldn't. Especially not if they were put on display in the name of none other than Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

It was easy to get on your nerves, yes. But that woman had a special super power in just her being feeling like nails on a chalkboard in your head. You had avoided her all evening, and so far, you had been doing well.

The Avengers were gone. You understood that. As hard as it was to come to terms with it, you were there first hand. But now, to have some politician woman step out and put out everything you had worked for, only to make herself look good... that's where you drew the line at being a good person. Because two people could play that game. And you were never made to be good in the first place-

"Miss Thompson." A deep voice made you turn around. Thank God you had already downed your glass of champagne the minute you stepped foot through the door.

"Miss Thompson?" You wondered with a grin, looking at the older man in front of you. Gary and you were on a first-name basis, so the sudden politeness in his voice surprised you. "Well then, Congressman-"

"Alright, cut the act," he stopped you with a smile.

You laughed. "You started it."

A moment of silence filled the space between the two of you before Gary's soft voice spoke up again. "Didn’t expect to see you here, Y/N." It was so unlike the tone he used with Valentina.

You shrugged with a sigh, "Just trying to help my conscience, I guess?" Maybe only a part of it was a lie. But some of it definitely held truth. There was one reason you were sure of as to why you were here. But would you still had come if HE hadn't been here?

"Your conscience?" The politician looked at you in pure confusion. "You already helped us enough with de Fontaine. I hope you know that. You can sleep tight, knowing you brought us everything you could. You worked hard. You deserve some time off."

'Some time off.' You could only scoff. You had heard that sentence one too many times. Your type of people don't just get 'some time off'. If you do, you're missing something. You'd be failing at the one job you were confident in.

"I don't think so." Trying to avoid his gaze, your eyes darted upwards, finding a woman now next to Bucky. You scrunched your eyebrows.

"You helped enough," he tried to assure you some more.

Softly, you shook your head. "Is there ever enough help?"

Gary let a sigh fall from his lips. He wasn't annoyed. He couldn't be after all you had done for him and the right side of the impeachment. But he knew how hard you had been on yourself for the past few months, and he couldn't understand why.

"Self-employment really isn't doing you any good."

You switched back to look at him, your mind now elsewhere and suddenly in a rush. "Yeah, well... maybe that's also why I'm here."

"You know, I'll always be able to find you a seat right next to me." It wasn't the first time he had offered to help you take your first step into the Capitol. And it wasn't the first time you had turned it down.

"I know," you smiled at him before your eyes went back to the now laughing couple on the balcony. "But politics isn't really my thing."

-

“You can’t sneak up on me. I thought you knew that.”

You had excused yourself from the crowd on the ground floor, passing even more people who seemed like they wanted to speak to you, starting their approach with 'Thank you for-' before you politely brushed them off to continue your way upstairs. There wasn't much time you had spent behind the stone pillar before he had found you. Even with his back still turned to you.

With a sigh, you gave in. “A girl can try.” Turning around, you made your way to the suited-up former Winter Soldier, who was still looking straight ahead, the big A shining directly towards the two of you.

Glancing down at your feet with a smile before he shook his head. "Not in those heels," Bucky commented.

"Jeez," you joked, "can't even dress to impress anymore."

You got a chuckle out of him, making you grin, yet you hid it behind the rim of another glass of champagne you had snatched from a waiter's tray.

The former soldier bit down on his lip, thinking twice before letting a compliment tumble from his lips. "You look beautiful." Sounding as easy and light as it did every time before.

You couldn't help but smile. "Thank you." Turning your head towards him, you were immediately locked in his gaze. You had almost forgotten how piercing his steel blue eyes were.

His hair had gotten longer. Much longer ever since you had last seen him. Sam had told you about his changed looks in your last phone call, which was... also quite a while ago. Shit, close to a year. He had told you about the suit and tie Bucky showed up with and with 'the old long mane, but not that shit he had back in Wakanda'. You never realised how much you had missed his long hair since he had decided to keep it short for some time, but now that you saw him again with this, it brought you back. Back to when you had met him, which, sure, wasn't the perfect first meet, but he still looked as good as ever.

And you looked even more stunning than ever before, he thought to himself. Also, he hadn't seen you in a good two years, and he had to hold onto the memory of your beauty for that time.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" His voice was close to a whisper, with the non-existent crowd on the upper floor, he didn't need to speak much louder, yet it felt all that much more intimate.

You could lie again. Tell him the same thing you had told Gary merely minutes ago. But Bucky knew you. Too well. You knew he would see right through you. So you decided to keep quiet for just a second too long, which made him continue.

"I thought you were still in Louisiana."

Louisiana... where you were promised a somewhat normal life. A new beginning. A fresh start. Clean air. A clear past. Turns out that just wasn't for you. After all, he had also decided it wasn't right for him, so who was he to suddenly throw that at you? Almost two years after he was last there.

"I was," you answered him, going back to avoiding his gaze, rather looking straight ahead at the big warm light right in front of you. "For a bit. Then D.C., Brooklyn, Wakanda-"

"You went back?"

"Had to," you simply told him. "Shuri..." God... there was so much you wanted to tell him. So, so much. But you decided otherwise. "Just a few things I had to finish there."

Bucky must've noticed your drift away, but he didn't nag on it, but played along. "How's everyone?"

"Good. They asked about you." Maybe there was still some part of you that wanted him to feel remorse. To feel hurt. To feel bad.

He took a deep breath, fixing the hem of his pants around his waist. They sat perfectly, you had to admit.

"What did you tell 'em?"

"That I was worried."

"Worried?" He wondered in confusion, his eyes still trained on your side profile. "Why worried?"

"Well," you started. You had prepared the following course of conversation in your head. You weren't about to spill the content of the past few months of your life apart from him when you had just seen him again. You didn't come to catch up with him. You just wanted him to know that you were still there. And that you were being and looking good as ever. Even if it was just an act.

"It is quite... worrying. You know... You... in politics. Alone. Worrying about this... very worrying issue." You teased him, slowly turning your head towards him at the sound of his chuckle.

“So I guess you watched the news.”

You raised your eyebrows, taking another sip from the champagne. “Oh, did I.”

While he may have been an okay politician during his term, he, by no means, was a natural when it came to speaking in front of the camera.

“And? What do you say?” Bucky continued to conversation almost too easily. Either he truly didn't care about the past, or he had become a phenomenal actor in the time you had spent apart.

His eyes made it hard to look away once again. You remembered why you always loved looking at them. While everyone would falter under his stare, give in and confess, you were intoxicated by them, lured in, and brought to your knees.

With a grin, you took a step closer, noticing, there wasn't much space left between you. “I think you might need a new speech writer. Or just somebody that helps you with speaking in public, really.”

“Really?” He taunted you, raising only one eyebrow.

“Yeah," you had joined him in the hushed whispers you were now sharing.

“You might know someone like that?”

You could only grin. “I might.”

“You think they’d wanna help out an old man?” There he was. The flirt from the 40s you had managed to melt back in the day. You knew he wasn't all that strict and stoic. Not how the outside world saw him. No one really knew just how much of a real playboy bachelor flirt he could be. No one but you.

“Caring for the elderly has always been really high up on my list, you know?”

“You don’t say," he smirked, knowing you could feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Mh." You copied his facial expression. "You don't remember?”

“Guess I’m quite lucky then, huh?” In the close distance you had created, Bucky easily lifted his metal hand to take the almost empty glass from your grip, downing the rest in one gulp before setting it down on a plateau next to you.

“You are.”

You both smiled at each other. Possibly for a few seconds too long. Longer than people who haven't seen each other in months probably should. Even if you hadn't ended on bad terms, you still shouldn't be all that close to him right now. Well... technically you didn't even end on... any terms...

You caught Bucky's eyes going down to your lips for just a split moment before coming back up again. You know he hoped you hadn't caught it. “It’s good to see you, Y/N.”

You grinned. Got him. "Mh," you nodded, tilting your head in the way you remembered him always liking. The way little animals would as they tried to read you.

Once you realised you still had just as much power over him, you chuckled to yourself, straightening your back and fiercely locking gazes with him again.

“So, Mister Congressman-”

“Oh, please.” He quickly broke the ban, rolling his eyes and taking a step back.

“What?" You mocked him. "You fought for that position, you think I won’t play into it?”

The former soldier shook his head, “You’re still quite the smartass, you know?”

But you just shrugged, choosing to lean your backside against the stone railing and crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Old habits die young, or whatever they say.”

“Die hard," he chuckled, shaking his head.

“That makes more sense.”

You were never good at remembering expressions, but oh well, that's what he had always been there for. Bucky was one of the few people who didn't tease you because of it; he'd just chuckle, correct you, and move on. Sure, he'd remember it secretly forever, but he would never mention it again. Unlike some others back in the Tower all those years ago.

"How are Sam and Rhodey?"

You noticed how he didn't ask about Jaoquin - he never really liked how much of a fan the soldier was of you. He must've thought you were in closer contact with the two men than he was. After all, he was the one to leave first.

"Good," you took a deep breath, glancing down at your hands in shame at your next confession. "I think..."

Bucky's scrunched eyebrows snapped towards you. "You think?"

You brushed some of your hair out of your face before answering with a nod. "Haven't talked to them in a while." It must've been like... a good few months.

"What? Why?"

All you could do was shrug. There was a reason. Of course, there was always a reason. But you were still allowed to keep some things to yourself.

The congressman's entire body was now turned towards you. Pure fury and the beginning of a fire filled his eyes. "Do they know you're here?"

Sam and especially Rhodey had been adamant about your 'retirement'. Or 'break' as they had called it after you had repeatedly told them you weren't even close to thinking about putting your suit into a museum. Even though you knew it's what Tony would've wanted. What Pepper still begs you for. But after... everything, you had thrown yourself deep into work, harder than ever before. The Flag Smashers should've been your last mission. You had gotten hurt pretty badly and had almost been injected with the new Super Soldier serum, making all the alarm bells ring. But then you remembered Peter in Brooklyn, then Shuri called, and then came the impeachment, and suddenly there was no way out. There never was.

"What do you think?" You snapped back at him, suddenly triggered by the tone in his voice. "You think they'd let me be here? You think they'd be happy about this?"

"No." Bucky hissed at you, making you almost take a step back, but his hand had found your arm, tightly holding onto it. "That's exactly why I asked you what you're doing here."

"I was helping," you snarled through your teeth, snatching your arm out of his grip, knowing he'd never hold you too tight to leave a mark or trap you.

Your comment sparked Bucky's interest. "With what?"

There goes your wannabe mystery appearance. "With the impeachment." Well, at least he now thought that that had truly been the only reason.

The former soldier looked around in confusion. His eyebrows scrunched, leaving creases in his forehead that you used to straighten out in the past, telling him he'd grow older fast even with the serum rushing through his blood.

"You're here because of Valentina?"

You sighed in slight annoyance. "Not because of her. I helped Gary," you explained, making him shut his mouth and listen carefully to you. "I haven't heard from him in like a week. I thought the impeachment had gone through, and it was done. So you can guess how fucking happy I was, seeing she was throwing a first responder gala to 'honour all the heroes of this country'." You changed your voice to mock her. Turning around to glance back down at the crowd of people, you couldn't help but get sad. Everything you had ever owned or earned, now behind glass and put on show for everyone to see.

"This was ours. And she just... took it. Tony wasn't-" You forced yourself to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. "He didn't think about what he was doing, okay? He was... frustrated and... angry." Yes, it's been a while since everything happened, but the wound was still very much open for you. Especially since you hadn't allowed yourself to fully think about it until you were confronted with it.

Tony had sold the Tower, and Valentina was the first to accept the offer. Everything inside went to SHIELD. You never truly forgave him for that. Bucky held you throughout every night you confronted yourself with the past. While he was trying to get better in therapy, you chose to suffer, hoping it would be in silence, but living together gave you close to no privacy at all.

You could feel Bucky shift closer next to you. His hand was a shadow on your lower back before he decided against it and lowered it again, choosing to try to comfort you with words rather than a touch.

"They asked Pepper-"

"I know they asked her," you spat back at him. "I know they did. We've talked about this... they didn't ask us. They didn't ask me." Your voice got quieter with each syllable falling from your lips.

He repeated the words he had said to you oh so long ago. Sitting on the fire escape of your shared Brooklyn apartment, with Bucky waking up as soon as you had gotten up to get some fresh air, another nightmare haunting you and making you go back in time to remember all the things you didn't do and didn't say.

"You couldn't have done anything to stop this, Y/N."

You shook your head. "I could've and I should've. But-" you took a deep breath in, turning your body slightly to find Bucky a bit closer than before again. "It seems like getting Valentina out of the way is the best thing I can do for now."

"You've done enough," his whisper of a voice made you shiver as he lifted his hand, finding the courage to touch you again. Bucky placed his warm palm on your naked arm, his thumb caressing the softness of his skin he had missed.

Ignoring the rush going through your body, yet you didn't jump away from his gentle touch, but instead tried to swerve the conversation.

"You sound like Gary."

The super soldier smiled at you. "I'm sure some of him has been rubbing off on me." A few years ago, you would've joked about the double meaning behind his words, but now you stayed quiet.

Speaking of the devil.

"Buck- oh, sorry-" the Congressman jumped back as soon as he saw the missing distance between you two, making Bucky and you separate immediately. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

The faint feeling of his touch still lingered on you. You tried to brush it off, physically rubbing your hand up and down your arm.

"It's okay," you assured him, a fake smile appearing on your lips.

"No, no, I'll just stop by later," Gary tried to get away, but you stopped him.

"It's fine, don't worry. I'll leave you to it." Giving one last glance at Bucky. "Like I said, politicians aren't really my thing."

But before you could go, another grab by your wrist halted you and made you turn around. Again, those blue eyes that once felt like home.

“I missed you, doll," he breathed out.

You let a beat pass.

“I missed you too, James.”

It was the first time Bucky couldn't tell if you had truly meant it or not.